


Left Behind

by DearBeliever



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Homophobia, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-15 17:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearBeliever/pseuds/DearBeliever
Summary: The pressures and temptations of the road start to get to the band and have some serious consequences for one member.





	1. Middle of nowhere

The cracks had started to appear four states and thousands of miles ago... First it was John quietly lamenting Freddie’s unwillingness to be curtailed by the rules of Scrabble. A seemingly insignificant argument that had started over a stupid board game had somehow erupted into long-subdued accusations of the singer’s poor time-keeping and indulgent behaviour. They’d heard from the guys in Mott the Hoople that touring in the Midwest had a way of killing your soul and shredding your sanity piece by piece. If they weren’t careful they were headed in that unpleasant direction.

Today’s heavyweight contenders were Brian and Roger. Although undoubtedly the best of friends, the two of them had nothing much in common apart from a shared passion for rock and roll and their deep-rooted determination to make a living at it. They were brothers in arms who would kill for each other. But, currently, their given targets just happened to be each other. The niggling had been going back and forth since they had left the last hotel around 10am and had only gathered pace as they trundled past mile after mile of uninspiring landscape. By the time they reached their destination around 5pm, the true root of the problem had come to the fore.

“See, that’s your problem all over, Rog,” Brian seethed. “You see it… you want it… you take it. You’re like a fucking kid constantly acting without bloody consequences.”

Roger propped his foot up on the sofa at the back of the bus, gazing down the gangway at the guitarist who stood leaning his weight against the toilet door as the bus swept down the highway.

“So, it’s childish to be assertive and look out for yourself?” he answered defensively, slowly puffing out a large cloud of smoke. “Last time I checked we’re in a rock and roll band and touring America for the first time, Bri. Aren’t we trying to avoid fucking responsibility?” He hated being made to feel immature or like some kind of liability because he was 25 years old and living life to the full. Fate had brought him here but it could just have easily had him drumming in a weekend covers band while working in a suburban dental practice.

“I can’t deal with this. I can’t be your bloody minder any more. You’re going to get yourself into all kinds of shit at some point and I, for one, am not going to pick up the pieces.” Brian gestured theatrically with his arms, hoping for some kind of support from Deacy who was pretending to be engrossed in a tattered paperback or Freddie who had just finished adding a second coat of varnish to his nails.

“Duly noted, Brian,” Freddie interjected from his bunk with a clap, trying to lighten the mood. “How long til we get to the undoubtedly delightful Springfield now, darlings?”

Roger eyes lit up, a wicked grin tugging at his lips as realisation hit. “You’ve blue-balled yourself you know, Brian… Not my fault if you can’t close the deal.”

“Excuse me?” Brian spluttered. Roger’s unrelenting frankness took him by surprise, Brian much more accustomed to speaking in a polite, if somewhat passive-aggressive manner.

“Last night, the red head… Sandra, or whatever her name was,” Roger smiled smugly to himself, remembering the way she felt wrapped around him, the gorgeous little moans against his neck. “You could have taken her back to the hotel but you fucked it up, mate. Always trying to get to know them, asking them about their college studies or whatever. They don’t want that. Most of them just want a good...”

“You absolute fuck!” Brian was moving towards him now, his eyes fixed on the smirk that adorned the blonde drummer’s face. The nerve had been identified and struck.

“That’s what you’re really pissed at. That I keep shagging the girls you want and wish you could,” Roger whispered condescendingly, leaning in to close the distance between the two. “I’d be pissed off too if I hadn’t got off in weeks.”

The younger man observed the look of embarrassment on Brian’s face and felt a pang of guilt enter his heart as they stood face to face. Roger offered a weak smile, reaching a hand out towards his friend’s chest after a long moment in an attempt to break the tension. He’d gotten carried away, sick of the way Brian criticised and picked at him incessantly. Before his hand could meet its intended target, Brian had whipped around. Roger lowered his hand and lifted the other still holding his cigarette.

The guitarist stalked off loudly towards the front of the bus. Freddie playfully gave the drummer the finger and winked as he followed the taller man down the length of the bus, offering sympathetic words to him about how he’d heard just wonderful things about the “friendliness” of the girls in Missouri.

“Went a bit far there, mate.” Deacy’s voice startled him, the youngest member of the band speaking for the first time in what seemed like hours.

“Maybe,” Roger replied, settling down for a nap, eager to sleep the rest of the journey away. He would try to find time to make it up to Brian later he thought to himself.

==================================================================================

They didn’t have a show until the next evening, so after checking into the latest in a long line of charmless hotels with vibrating beds and pink bathrooms, they grabbed a taxi to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town which was meant to be a great spot to hear local bands.

After downing a few shots and as many beers, Roger was in typically good spirits. A few girls at the bar teased him about his accent in an innocently flirty fashion and Roger was more than enamoured and willing to accept their advances. His bandmates in the booth at the back of the room and finding a way to apologise to the guitarist now long forgotten, he wrapped an arm around the waist of the girls either side of him, posing for a Polaroid shot. His hands snaked down to nip both of them on the backside as the flash appeared, the entire group erupting into a giggling mess together once again.

Brian slammed his beer down on the table as he noticed the annoyed looks Roger was receiving from a group of local guys, as well as a few record company types dotted around the room.

“He’s making a show of himself again. Preening like a bloody peacock,” Brian gestured with his head. Right on cue, Roger jumped up onto the bar to sing along to a Lennon song, only to be pulled back down into the giddily amused arms of another girl within the group.

“Right, we good to go? Guy over there works for EMI and said he’d give us a lift back when were ready,” the guitarist stated tiredly, draining the last of his drink.

Freddie nodded, more than ready to escape whatever the hell the smell was that clung to air in this poor excuse for a bar.

“Yep, let’s go,” John breathed, pushing his chair back. “I’ll grab the karaoke king over there.”

“Don’t bother, I’m sure his adoring fans aren’t quite finished with him yet,” the taller man replied striding ahead.

“Brian, he means no harm,” he started to reply but Brian was already shaking hands with the EMI rep and leading him towards the door. John was torn. Roger was his mate and he really didn’t want to leave him in a strange town without letting him know that they were going. Though, on the other hand, another journey with both him and Brian wasn’t appealing right now. Even if it was only a 5 minute ride. He elected to follow the others out, but offered a wave over his shoulder to the blonde, who noticed the gesture out of the corner of his eye as he whispered in a leggy brunette’s ear.

Untangling himself from the pair hands that had unfastened yet another button on his silk shirt, Roger began to weave his way through the crowd and towards the door. Emerging into the stiflingly still summer night he whistled to grab his bandmates’ attention.

“You guys going without me?! Let me just grab my jacket and I’ll come with you!” Grab a girl too he mused to himself, maybe one for Brian too. That would go a long way to putting right whatever the fuck had begun to go wrong between them he reckoned.

“Wouldn’t want to cramp your style, Rog,” Brian called back flatly, opening the car door. “You do your bit for international relations and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Guys, come on,” he urged, walking towards the car. “Just wait five minutes.”

The car started up and Roger could see Brian tell the man that they were ready to go. Sitting in the back of the car, Freddie silently mouthed his apologies and the car began to move.

Roger shook his head in disbelief. And Brian said he was the childish one? Abandoning his best mate in a parking lot in the middle of god knows where because of some hurt feelings. And Freddie and John entertaining this nonsense? Yes, he couldn’t blame them for being sick of the arguing and longing for a bit of peace but still.

Roger was aware of a kerfuffle behind him but was much too lost in his own thoughts as he watched the car turn right and then speed off down the road. He reached up to move the long blonde hair that was now sticking uncomfortably to his neck in the heat.

“Pussy English prick.”

“You what?” the drummer replied, slowly coming back to his senses. He scuffed his pink Converse on the dusty ground as he turned to see a group of guys leaning against the wall outside of the bar, watching him intently.

“You think you’re shit hot, all of you skinny wannabe rocker types passing through here,” the one with the beard spat, flicking his cigarette in Roger’s direction.

“Mate, I’m just passing through this shit hole town of yours. Not looking for any trouble, ok?” he answered firmly, holding his palms up.

“That so? Trouble is, you had your hand on my sister’s ass in there.”

Roger nodded, averting his gaze as he headed back inside to safer ground. A large frame blocked his path. Roger’s eyes took in the scuffed brown working boots, scanning up the form in front of him to reveal eyes full of alcohol-fuelled aggression.

“You looked like you wanted people to notice you in there. Sunglasses on inside, wearing a girl’s blouse for fuck’s sake. Well, we noticed you alright.” The man reeked of whiskey and Roger fought hard not to take a step back away from him, instead choosing to stand his ground. “And what a shame that there’s only you left, what with your fag friends rushing off just now.”

Roger again made to move back inside, deciding that the faster he got away from this bar the better. The man in front of him seemed in no condition to be reasoned with and, with his friends looming behind him, there was a real sense of menace in the air that was beginning to unnerve him. Suddenly, the face that had been sneering down on him was coming towards him. The man’s forehead met his face with a jarring jolt to his neck and a sickening crunch. Roger fell to his knees instantly, cradling his face as he felt warm liquid dripping slowly through his fingers and running down onto his chest. Giving him no time to recover, a foot connected with his stomach, sending him sprawling onto his back and struggling to breathe.

The next thirty seconds passed agonisingly slowly as unrelenting blows connected harshly with his face and torso. He tried to call for help but elected instead to cover his head as best he could. He felt like he was on the precipice of passing out right when the kicks and punches thankfully began to slow in pace as screams and shouts for the attack to stop rose.

“I’ve called the cops, so you assholes best leave the boy alone and be on your way!” a voice yelled.

“See you later, pretty boy,” a rough voice called. Roger heard to sound of spit being gathered and could imagine the rest.

Roger sat up gingerly with the help of a couple of the girls from inside. “Oh my god, your poor face, baby. Are you here with your band? Or can we call anyone to come and get you?” one of the girls asked softly. She dabbed at the cut steadily leaking blood from below his eye, taking in his dazed and forlorn expression.

“No,” Roger replied sadly, rising to his feet, hoping that the world would stop spinning soon. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

He recalled the words Brian has used earlier that day on the bus: _"...I, for one, am not going to pick up the pieces."_

Roger waved off concerns from the gathered crowd and headed off tentatively towards the exit of the parking lot, thankful that the men were now long gone. Tears began to prick at his eyes from the shock of what had just happened and from the vulnerable feeling that was creeping up his spine. Turning right, he began walking back in the direction of the hotel, wincing as his back and ribs began to protest and hoping to God that his bandmates would all be asleep by the time he got back and not there to witness his sorry state.


	2. The Morning After

The walk back to the hotel took around twenty minutes, though around five minutes into the journey Roger had begun to regret his decision to walk. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He was running on sheer adrenaline by the time he laid eyes on the dim neon light of the hotel in the distance. The drummer was finding it harder and harder to get a decent breath of air into his lungs and was feeling increasingly unsteady on his feet. The dead night air around him wasn’t helping with the wooziness and his ribs ached with every movement.

When he eventually stumbled off the main street and into the parking lot of the hotel he spotted a group of young females near the entrance. Turning to look at the dishevelled form making its way towards them, they began to whisper to each other and a few uneasy glances were shot his way.

“You’re from Queen, right? Are you okay, honey?” A blonde girl stepped towards him and reached out her hand, unsure of what to do to help.

“I’ll live,” he grimaced, struggling up the stairs and into the bright lobby. Roger’s body felt about ready to give out on him, only the thought of lying down keeping him moving forward.

“Take care of yourself!” called the sweet voice behind him. He laughed ruefully to himself. He planned on doing just that, he’d look after himself, certain that the others would somehow find a way to blame him for what happened.

Thankfully, this was one of the stops on the tour where the boys had been given their own hotel rooms, so at least he needn’t worry about any awkward conversations tonight or first thing tomorrow morning. Stumbling into the sweet sanctuary of his hotel room, he stripped off his stained shirt first, his shoulders protesting as he did so. When he bent down to take off his shoes, the shooting pain from his lower back caused him to swear loudly and sit down at the end of the bed. Fuck it, he thought to himself, deciding against any more strenuous movements. I can sleep with my jeans on, he decided.

Roger walked into the bathroom and tentatively turned on the harsh overhead light to get a glimpse at his face for the first time. He knew it had to be bad from the equally sympathetic and horrified looks he’d received in the hotel lobby, but he hadn’t been quite prepared to see it for himself. The bruising had already begun to appear around is eyes and the swelling was pronounced all across his face. Only a matter of time before it appeared on his body too, he thought. He took a wash cloth from the rail and began to wipe away some of the drying blood from his chest. In doing so he noticed a few cuts from where small stones from the parking lot had dug into his skin through the thin material.

Filling a glass of water from the tap, Roger grabbed a few painkillers from his suitcase and made his way back to the bed. He took his time to lie down, attempting to find somewhat comfortable position. He looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that it was only just after 10pm. The boys would still be up but he just couldn’t face them after their deliberate decision to leave without him. They must really think the worst of him to do that, he reckoned. He especially couldn’t face the judgment of Brian. Or maybe he actually did bring it on himself? Roger felt so unsure of himself and those around him all of a sudden. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable. It was something he gone to great lengths to avoid his entire life.

Sleep was proving elusive for him. His body still had excess adrenaline coursing through it and his mind kept replaying the attack and the words uttered to him before and after it. Roger just desperately needed the incessant flow of thoughts to stop… Soon he began to pick up on the noises from Fred’s room next door and the longer he listened the more certain he was that John and Brian were in there with him. He could hear the good-natured laughter between them and the hum of music playing on the radio. Roger felt a pang of sadness and, although he knew he was being indulgent in feeling so sorry for himself, he felt an unwelcome tear roll down his cheek. Summoning some resolve and wiping away unshed tears, Roger gathered the spare pillow to his chest and willed himself to rest.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Rog! Wake up!”

He awoke with a start, his neck craning off the pillow at once, only to fall back down again when his body protested at the sudden movement.

“Rog! Come on, radio interview in half an hour, mate!”

Brian waited patiently for any sign of life. He was sure he’d heard the drummer come back to his room not too long after the rest of them last night. But when he didn’t hear the moans of a girl through the thin walls, nor the drummer appear at Freddie’s door, he’d just assumed that he’d been wrong. Roger was never one to stay in his own company for any period of time.

Roger tried his best to clear his throat and make his voice sound normal, even though the pain that he was currently experiencing was trying to force its presence into his throat. He felt himself being overcome with emotion again and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried and now it was all his body wanted him to do.

“I’m not feeling good, go ahead without me!” he called from bed. Opening his eyes and looking to the side, he noticed the horrible mess of dried blood on the pillow next to him. He also noticed that his typically poor vision was even more diminished than normal this morning. His eyes must have swollen further during the night.

“Come on, Roger, don’t be like that!” Brian called back.

“Mate, I’m not feeling good, okay? I’ll be ready for sound check.” He knew his tone came off as unnecessarily cold but he just didn’t have the energy. He wasn’t that good of an actor.

“Okay, see you later then.” Brian reluctantly walked away from the door and headed down to meet the other guys for a coffee downstairs. He decided against turning this into yet another stand-off between them. Maybe Roger had taken them leaving last night more harshly than he had intended. He’d only meant to piss the drummer off a little and to remind him that they were a group.. a team. And that considerations should be made for others. Deacy and Freddie hadn’t been happy about them leaving without their bandmate and he’d promised them in Freddie’s room last night that he’d apologise to Roger and put all of their petulant arguments behind them.

“How’s your drummer today?” a tall brunette wearing the hotel’s uniform asked him, passing by with a tray of plates.

“Um, okay… Why do you ask?” Brian replied, a little perplexed by her inquiry.

“Oh, I was there last night when it happened,” she answered matter of factly. With that, she carried on briskly into the café area leaving Brian no opportunity to ask her what she had meant. A horrible feeling started to creep into the pit of his stomach.

Brian sat down next to the rest of the band again on one of the couches in the lobby looking lost in thought.

“No Rog?” Freddie enquired, looking up from his magazine in surprise. Roger was dedicated to the band and everything that entailed.

“No…” the taller man breathed out, nervously drumming his fingers against his lips.

Just then, the same girl came back through the swinging doors and started heading back in their direction.

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you,” Brian asked, jumping to his feet again. “But what did you mean just now about our drummer? When _what_ happened exactly?” Brian’s words ran together, his tone tinged with an edge of panic.

“You don’t know?” Her brows furrowed in confusion as to how they possibly couldn’t. His battered face wasn’t something they could have missed. “He was attacked by a group of guys outside of the bar you guys were at last night. Messed him up pretty good. I was surprised that he was able to stand up and walk away from it, to be honest. Tough dude…”

“Shit.” Brian grimaced and closed his eyes.

All three moved in unison. Deciding to forgo the lift, they instead elected to sprint up the three flights of stairs that would lead them to their drummer.

“Roger, open up. We know what happened last night, darling…” Freddie spoke softly through the door, trying to keep his voice calm despite the worry in his chest.

“Please let us in, we’re worried about you, mate,” Deacy added. The three men on the wrong side of the door looked nervously at each other.

They could hear cursing as Roger slowly maneuvered himself out of bed. The boys heard him cough, followed by more swear words and a groan. Finally, they heard him turn the lock. The boys weren’t prepared for the sight that greeted them a second later...

Roger stood before them a hunched figure wearing last night’s jeans that were now speckled with his blood. His normally vibrant eyes were dim and encased in black circles, a deep cut prominent below his right eye. His cheekbones were swollen and his lower lip was purple and painfully split.

“Jesus, my darling, Rog.” Freddie was the first to act, gently taking hold of his bandmate’s arms and turning him carefully back in the direction of the bed. “There. Sit, love.”

“God, Roger, your back.” Brian hadn’t meant the sharp intake of breath that followed to be so loud, but the extent of the bruising, coupled with the faint outline of a foot on his lower back, took the guitarist’s breath away. It was only then that the boys noticed the terrible bruising to the lower half of his torso too.

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor, pal? You’re in a terrible state,” Deacy suggested, crouching down to bring himself eye level with Roger. He placed a hand on the blonde’s knee to make sure he’d heard him. Roger shook his head and kept his eyes downcast. There was something shameful about this whole situation, he couldn’t help but think to himself. He hated the nagging ache.

Brian sat on the bed next to his friend and placed a protective arm around his shoulder. Roger resisted the overwhelming urge to lean into it.

“What happened last night?” Freddie inquired softly, padding into the bathroom to get Roger a fresh wash cloth to wipe his skin. His touch was so gentle and Roger bit his lip to stave of the embarrassing urge to cry once more. “I’ve got you, it’s alright,” the singer soothed as the younger man winced at the wipe at a painful cut on his face.

“Group of guys started mouthing off at me as you left,” Roger began quietly, his eyes still trained on the hideous carpet below. “I said nothing back to them honestly” he assured, looking up for the first time to meet Brian’s eyes. “I tried to get back inside to get away from the four of them but…”

“Fuck, I’m so, so sorry, Roger. This is all my fault.” Brian began to rub Roger’s shoulder gently in a soothing gesture. “We should never have left you there.” Roger felt a wave of relief begin to wash over him at the words coming out of his bandmates’ mouths.

He hesitantly reached up to grab a hold of his the guitarist’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. “You thought you were leaving me in a bar with a group of girls, Bri. Was hardly the most dangerous situation I’ve ever been in in my life,” he smiled softly.

“Still, I feel sick over it. I shouldn’t have been so pissy with you.” Brian gently pulled Roger closer to him and let his head fall on top of the drummer’s for a moment. Never the most tactile of men, Roger recognised the significance of the gesture.

“It makes me feel so shit that you were in here all by yourself last night in pain and we were all next door having a drink and a laugh,” Brian continued, maintaining contact.

“Why didn’t you come and get us, Rog? You must have been so scared after it happened,” Freddie asked sympathetically, wiping around Roger’s brow and pushing his hair back to look at him.

Roger’s mind went back to the words Brian had uttered on the bus the previous day and he let out the breath he’d been holding. “I think I just couldn’t handle you guys saying ‘I told you so,’” he admitted with a wavering voice. “I know it's fucked up but when Brian said I was going to get myself into a shit load of trouble and that he wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces, I just felt like I wanted to hide away for a while, you know?”

“Jesus, Rog...” Brian’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know now it was just heat of the moment stuff, Bri. I shouldn’t have ran my mouth and said half of the crap I said too… I’m just not great at showing my emotions and being vulnerable.”

“No shit,” Deacy chuckled, smiling cheekily at the drummer.

Roger returned his grin, kicking playfully at the bassist still crouching before him.

“Right, I’m going to get downstairs and tell management that the radio interview is off,” Freddie stated, heading for the door.

“No,” Roger protested, groaning loudly from the pain of turning his head so suddenly.

“My point exactly, my pretty boy. You are desperately in need of some TLC and I’m going to see to it that you get it.” He was out the door and jogging down the corridor before Roger could reply.

John stood, clapping his hands together in an attempt to get his brain in gear. “And I’m going to… Go and get you some ice for your face,” he spoke, pointing at Roger. “Back in a minute, guys.”

Brian and Roger were left alone in the room. Brian still had his arm wrapped around his bandmate, showing no sign of letting him go. As one moment of silence rolled into the next, Roger decided to shuffle himself back under the covers.

“My back’s killing me sitting here mate, mind if I…”

“Of course, yeah…But Rog, before you do…” He stopped speaking and leaned in, wrapping the smaller man up in a proper embrace. His mouth came close to Roger’s ear, speaking in the quietest of voices even though they were the only two in the room. “Love you. Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. You’re like my brother, you daft bugger.”

Roger clung to him tightly despite the pain radiating from his body, receiving everything he didn’t even know he needed in that instant. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged another man like this. His Dad he supposed but, even at that, their relationship had never been a good one and he’d probably been around 12 or so the last time it happened. He dropped his forehead to Brian’s shoulder for a moment before raising his head to reply.

“Let’s let all of this bullshit go, Bri. We’re living the life we've dreamed about since we were at school, for fuck’s sake…”

“You’re right. Let’s smash the rest of this tour, eh?!” Brian released him with the quickest of kisses to the cheek. It was almost as if by doing it quickly enough Roger might not notice.

The blonde smiled at the intimacy of the gesture. “Deal.”


End file.
